


Meltdown

by avidita



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Sweat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:02:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2602805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avidita/pseuds/avidita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another old fill for a <a href="http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink/8627.html?thread=24323507#t24323507">prompt of st_xi_kink</a>:</p>
<p><i>"It's freaking hot here right now, like brain melting, appetite dying, fuck-who-needs-clothes-anyway hot.</i><br/>Give me a malfunction on Enterprise: everything is too hot, but in a bad way! And sweaty Chekov being mrrarrrsexy without noticing himself (but everyone else does).<br/>And then, sex."<br/>Combined with another prompt about Scotty being a late bloomer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meltdown

The temperature had reached a permanent 103 degrees Fahrenheit when the captain’s voice could be heard throughout the ship.  
  
“Alright, folks, nobody kill Scotty, the man and his team are working hard, but he says he doesn’t know how long it’ll take.   
So, everyone keep eating icecubes, and Bones orders us all to drink as much water as we can. And. Since I’m awesome and love you all: Dresscode his hereby abolished for the duration of tropic-times on this ship. The only thing you’ll all still keep covered is primarily sexy stuff like boobs and behinds and crotches of course.  
Kirk – out.”  
  
Scotty had winced, but he was safe in Engineering, where everyone was indeed working their asses off on this. Now he was smiling a little and shaking his head at Kirk’s tone. The lad wasn’t quite unhappy with the situation, that much was clear.  
  
“Chief,” Bethany had climbed down the ladder and was now looking under the console, where, Scotty was pretty sure about that, he was working in one of the hottest spots on this ship.  
  
Scotty threw her a grin, and she asked, “Is it okay if we just strip? I mean... down to underwear or something?”  
  
“Sure,” he nodded. “Tell the others, too, dinnae think we need ta suffer more than we ‘ave to, righ’?”   
She grinned back and was off, calling to the others, who sighed and laughed and probably stripped down immediately.  
  
Scotty loved his team, he really did. Adorable little buggers the lot of them, though they obviously had no earthly idea about real engineering. But, well, they were teachable.  
Now if he just could figure out what the bloody hell was wrong with the climate controls.  
  
What the captain hadn’t told the crew was how serious this really was. Scotty had briefed the commanding officers on it not an hour ago. The rate they were going, they would reach temperatures no human could survive long in about two days.  
  
Spock would most probably survive the longest.  
  
And every icecream a crewmember ordered, every chilly drink, every cold shower worsened the problem. The Enterprise had to fabricate the cold temperatures of such things somehow, and in doing so - pure physics - pumped even more hot air into the environmental systems.  
  
Scotty had hated the cold when he’d been in beagle-caused exile, but now he found himself yearning for it.  
His newest guess ran through on the PADD in his hands, connected to another bit of the system, but the initial diagnostics showed no problem.  
  
Without really thinking about it, Scotty pulled off his boots with his feet alone, his hands busy with the PADD. He’d been obsessed with a horrible scenario as a child, so afraid of losing both his hands, that he’d learned to do all kinds of stuff with his feet.  
Grabbing his socks with his toes and pulling them off was nothing but an afterthought. Bare feet felt better in the moving air.  
They couldn’t stop the constant current or airflow on the ship, people would fall into sickbay far earlier if they did. But the increased ventilation probably cost them a day, its heat adding to the problem.  
  
Sighing heavily, Scotty came up from under the console and checked on his team. They were moving only slowly, like the doctor had ordered, everyone with their big water bottle at hand, drinking now and then.  
  
Scotty approved and took a big gulp of his own. Then he ditched the outer shirt, like most of his men had done. Some had rolled up or even cut off the trousers, others wore only their boxers to the thin, black undershirts.  
  
Winny, who handed him the latest report by her team, had some kind of top with spaghetti straps. He could see the colour of her bra, so he grinned while scrolling through the newest, quite distressing numbers:  
  
“Hot pink, Lieutenant?” He’d never guessed. She mumbled something, half embarrassed, half amused, and stalked off with long, bare legs under a short skirt and bare feet.  
  
Scotty actually didn’t approve of all that too much. Clothes were an extra layer of protection, the cloth for the engineering uniforms didn’t catch fire and saved them time and time again from being scratched like children in thorny bushes.  
  
He eyed all the naked flesh around him, and frowned a little. The captain probably loved this, and it might even have been necessary... but it still made Scotty a bit apprehensive.  
  
  
Chekov came through one of the big, open doors, walking astonishingly fast. The kid grinned widely, and Scotty could see why.  
  
Chekov wore boxer shorts.   
  
Period.  
  
And since his chest was glistening with water drops and his curls were dark and still dripping, he’d obviously dumped some water on himself. Scotty hid his shuddering at the thought of so much wetness near his precious electronics.  
  
At least the boy wore his low boots, although they were open and he’d foregone any socks.  
  
“Mr. Scott!” Chekov called and came to him. “How are you!”  
  
“Hot,” Scotty smiled. “And yoo’re far too wet to be in hee, laddy!”  
  
“Ah, nyet, I will be wery careful!” Chekov grinned again. “I don’t feel like I’m melting for ze first time again!”  
  
Scotty smiled back, a little too tired for so much grinning, and asked, “How’s the captain?”  
  
“Disappointed,” smirked the kid. Scotty lifted his eyebrows and came a little closer - that smelled like gossip, right here.  
  
Chekov nodded enthusiastically. “See, Mr. Spock is quite comfortable in his uniform, Lt. Uhura chose some kind of long, flowy dress zat hides everything but her neck and arms, and most of ze women on bridge liked her example.”  
  
Scotty imagined, for a sex-crazed lad like Kirk disappointment made sense at that point. He himself liked long, flowing summer dresses on ladies. Classy.  
  
Chekov sighed, “He nearly didn’t want to let me come here, since I was ze only one as undressed as he was.”  
  
Yes, that had probably killed the captain’s mood for good.  
  
“Alright, lad, what’s new?”  
  
They both went to a computer console to share their thoughts and findings.  
  
  
  
Hours later Winny’s group was off shift, and Scotty had been dragged by the Russian kid to one of the smaller Jeffries’ tubes to check on a relay there.  
  
Chekov talked animatedly about his newest theory, but somehow Scotty had trouble following him. There was the heat, of course, sweltering for so long by now. Also a certain lack of rest: Scotty could neither sleep well with an unsolved problem on his mind nor in, well, too much heat, so he’d skipped last night completely.  
  
But Chekov himself was very distracting, too. It was just so unexpected for the kid to pack so much muscle. Of course he was lean and more of the wiry type, but still, those arms were astoundingly well formed.  
  
Scotty himself had joined the boxers’ faction of the crew, and he’d cut off the short arms of his tight undershirt to use those as wristbands.  
Chekov had initially used a towel to dry himself up now and again, then he’d turned to dousing himself with water again when he couldn’t stand the heat anymore. Poor lad was probably only used to cold Russian summers.  
  
Scotty was lying on his back right now, frowning at the ceiling of the tube and listening to Chekov rattling of numbers and possibilities. The kid was wiggling to get them to stay apart now and then, and Scotty heartily agreed. It was far too hot for body contact in here, although the draft reached them even this deep inside.  
  
“So, if I am correct, Mr. Scott-“  
  
“Yeah, if you’re correct, it’s a bloody mess, but doable.”  
  
“Exactly!”  
  
Chekov was grinning and typing furiously, kneeling at Scotty’s side, the connected PADD on the floor, the console in the side wall blinking slowly. Scotty turned his head a little and watched the kid. His curls had dried already, so the tiny drop at his chin had to be fresh sweat.  
  
Scotty blinked slowly and contemplated if he was losing his mind. He wanted to know what that drop tasted like.  
  
“Call me Scotty, lad,” he said quietly. “Everybody else does.”  
  
“Mr. Spock doesn’t!”  
  
“Yeeah, ‘at’s just Spock.”  
  
Chekov’s gaze flickered to him.  
  
“Mr. Scott... I vould very much like to call you by your first name.”  
  
Scotty blinked. “Honestly?” Chekov nodded and smiled a little. Scotty could feel the goofy grin on his lips and said: “Laddy, ‘at’s an aweful name to call some’un with.”  
  
“It’s not. Montgomery.”  
  
Well, he’d be damned. The goofy grin died a quick, painless death, and Scotty just stared. The way the lad said it, his given name sounded like a piece of toffee.  
Very good toffee at that.  
  
Chekov looked to the PADD again and mumbled some numbers, which started to sound quite well, proving Chekovs newest theory.  
  
Scotty was still staring. He could smell the kid, of course he could. And he was what, eighteen? And very male, more so than anybody’d probably guessed.  
  
Scotty had never had any interest in ladies or gents, apart from being friends, or being fascinated by someone’s mind. But now he smelled this sportive shower gel, this fresh, young, sweaty skin, and something dusty and metallic.  
  
They had been crawling through the insides of their ship for hours now, so he knew he didn’t smell like roses. But Chekov had oil smudges all over himself, and his boxers were clinging a little, wet from sweat and the second dose of bottled water the kid had dumbed on himself in one of the corridors a while ago.  
  
His gaze was flickering back to Scotty, and suddenly the heat was growing. And, far more alarming, Scotty really didn’t care.  
  
Chekov wiped his chin with the back of his hand, then his brow with his lower arm. The oil smudge there grew bigger by that, and Scotty could swear he even smelled that. And he heard his own voice drop a few registers as he quietly said:  
  
“Pavel, then.”  
  
Chekov nodded shyly and lifted himself up a little to turn to the console and check the connection there.  
  
That also entailed quite some wiggling around, and since he was kneeling and catching his weight on one hand, his bottom was high enough to be in perfect grasping range for Scotty.  
  
Who started to wonder if the kid could really be  _that_  sexy without any intention or awareness behind it.  
He’d had his share of seduction tries, mostly women trying to get him to help them through finals.  
But this was the clumsiest by far. And the most enticing.  
  
He cleared his throat and cursed the suddenly deep timbre of his voice.  
  
“Pavel, I’m sorry, but...”  
  
Chekov nodded frantically at that, without turning his face, and tried to wiggle into a less problematic position.  
  
“Nyet, no, Mr. Scott,  _I_  am sorry, I shouldn’t do this, I know, you’re not... but I, well, ze heat...”  
  
The upper shoulders of the kid were tinged red now, that must have been a fantastic blush if seen from the front.  
  
“I’m not- what?” Scotty couldn’t help asking.  
  
“Easy,” Chekov croaked.  
  
Scotty blinked at his back. Chekov turned a little, smiling sadly and really, what a furious blush that was.  
  
“I’m  _really_  sorry, Mr. Scott. I didn’t think you’d even- well, I didn’t think much at all.” He tried to catch his gaze and when he caught it, looked away again quickly.  
  
Apparently, Scotty’s brain had had enough, too, and went off to a holiday, since Scotty’s hand touched the wet small of Chekov’s back and whispered:  
  
“Pavel.”  
  
Chekov shivered and typed something at the console.  
  
“Pavel. I meant t’ ask if you were flirtin’, I dinnae mean to turn ya down.”  
  
Chekov groaned deeply and turned around.  
  
“Don’t joke, Montgomery.”  
  
There it was again, the toffee on Chekov’s tongue. It really wasn’t Scotty’s fault that he had to grab the lad’s arm and pull him down into a hurried kiss.  
  
And then everything turned blurry and frantic and sweaty and hot, even more so than before. As Scotty had to pull himself out of the kiss to gasp for breath, Chekov heaved himself up from where he’d lain, one leg between Scotty’s, chest to chest, hands in the other’s hair.  
  
He grabbed his water bottle and unscrewed it, a devious grin on his lips. Scotty smiled back, still a bit dazed by all this. Then the kid shoved his shirt up under his chin and poured some of the still cool water onto Scotty’s chest.  
Chekov must’ve had icecubes in there, and bloody Christ did that feel horribly good!  
  
Scotty heard his own, deep groan and Chekov’s answering moan. The kid’s pupils were unbelievably big, and his red, slightly swollen lips were standing open.  
Then he crawled over Scotty again, leaning down to lap at his skin like on icecream. His tongue was hot on Scotty’s unexpectedly chilled skin.  
  
Scotty surged up and moaned loudly. Chekov pressed himself down on him and caught his lips in a heated, chilled kiss. Scotty clawed at Chekov’s curls, feeling the muscles in the lad’s arms work to keep Chekov in position above him.  
  
He grinned into the kiss, grabbed Chekov’s bottom and made him fall into his arms completely. The lad made an adorably helpless sound and started rutting against Scotty, both of them hot and hard.  
  
The PADD made a tiny sound, a very pleasant “Ching!”, that said very clearly: the diagnostic came back clear. No problem in this part of the Enterprise. Dead end. A calm thought drifted into Scotty’s mind. They would die from this heat.  
That had been the very last straw.  
  
He opened his eyes, pulled Chekov’s head back a bit and let his other hand wander inside of the lad’s boxers. Only a small, blue ring was left around all that darkness in Chekov's eyes, his mouth hanging open, even drooling a bit. Chekov tried to smile at him, but his eyes crossed as Scotty’s finger stroked into his crack.  
  
Scotty had always wanted to try a lot. He’d just never known anyone he’d like to try it with. So now he massaged the tiny, puckered openening of the gorgeous, helpless creature in his arms, and held him up by his curls, while the lad humped their erections against each other, the damp, soft cloth between them astonishingly rough against their heated skin.  
  
Scotty really tried to keep on watching, but when his finger breached the tight muscle and stroked inside, Chekov keened, lost all rhythm, threw his head back and came hot and wet in his boxers. So Scotty had to close his eyes and pull him tighter against himself, surging up and then all the heat and need and frantic want in his stomach and pelvis released into one sharp burst of pain that didn’t hurt at all.  
  
Chekov was panting and mumbling in Russian. Scotty was gasping for breath too, blinking at the tube’s ceiling and stroking Chekov’s back and hair.  
A deep breath and nearly silent sigh, and suddenly the lad relaxed against him completely, nose pressed against the side of Scotty’s throat.  
  
His voice was rough and quiet when he asked:  
  
“Montgomery... was zat a negative I heard just now?”  
  
Scotty nodded slowly. Chekov’s sigh was distinctly annoyed. He whispered a Russian curse and heaved himself up again. Their eyes locked and they smiled fiercely at each other. The day was yet to come when Starfleet officers just gave up.  
They shared a tight nod, then Chekov adjusted his boxers and wiggled over to the PADD to check on the details.  
  
Scotty was leaning on his elbows and waiting for the verdict, when suddenly a very, very cold draft reached him. Chilled like it was refrigerated.  
He opened his mouth to say something, but by then Chekov had noticed it, too. For a second they just stared at each other, than they scrambled out of the tube to the corridor to stare up at the ventilation shaft.  
  
You could see the cold air falling down, moisture condensing in it, changing it into very cold mist.  
Chekov and Scotty were just standing there, clothes ruined, hair mussed up, both of them smelling like sex and sweat and machine oil. Suddenly Chekov let out a loud whoop of joy and ran off to Engineering.  
  
“Come on, Mr. Scott, someone must have found a solution!” He didn’t wait, his breathless laughter growing dying away the farther he got.  
  
Scotty was still staring, and slowly started to frown. This didn’t make any sense.  
  
  
  
  
Many hours later, when everyone had showered and napped, and a very sad Captain Kirk had reinstated the dresscode, Scotty was leaving one of the many meetings he’d attended.  
  
He was frowning darkly. Kirk patted his back in feigned sympathy and said quietly:  
  
“Whatever this was, we need to know it, Scotty. This was far too dangerous.”  
  
Scotty nodded darkly at him. They shared a worried look, then they split up, Kirk walking to the bridge, Scotty to the turbolift. Chekov was a few steps ahead, also headed to Engineering. Scotty watched his tight bottom moving in his trousers and sighed silently. One hand trailing along the wall panels he muttered:   
  
“Well, m’Lady, not that I’m ungrateful or anything. But the stupid lad’s been avoiding me eyes for the whole time now. Would be mighty convenient for the lifts to fail in a few moments...?”  
  
Then he snorted and shook his head. Still, at least Chekov held the door open for him, although he was blushing furiously again. And looking at the floor.  
  
“Oh goddammit,” Scotty muttered as the door closed. “Listen, kid, if ya wanna keep this in the Jeffries’, we’ll keep it there. But don’t make me ashamed here, righ’?”  
  
Chekov took a deep breath and dared to look up.  
  
“You thought we would die.”  
  
“I shoo did  _not_!” Scotty glared at him. If that had been pity sex, the lad was in for a whole lot of trouble.  
  
Chekov sulked a little and asked:  
  
“Was that a ‘pity fuck’?”  
  
Scotty blinked at him, quite dumbfounded.  
  
“...no. Was it?”  
  
“Nyet!”  
  
And just as they both dared to smile at each other, the lift failed.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://fanfuchs.tumblr.com/)! :)


End file.
